


Where You're Meant to Be

by CherryMilkshake



Series: At Least Being a Warden Gets You Laid - A Love Story [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Falling In Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 05:56:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12125997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryMilkshake/pseuds/CherryMilkshake
Summary: The Fereldan Wardens are pretty desperate for help, so when a perfectly serviceable assassin falls into their laps, obviously he should be made use of.His handsome face and flirtationscertainlyhad nothing to do with it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I began writing this fic exactly two years ago. And finally it's seeing the light of day. Hope you enjoy it!
> 
>  
> 
> [A visual for Geoffrey if you like.](http://68.media.tumblr.com/8dc749ecfa3f3dec5201ac902e5497f6/tumblr_nsl1ocpHaC1qh2pnuo2_1280.jpg)

_“There's nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be...” - John Lennon_

"We're taking the _assassin_ with us now?!" Alistair's voice squeaked with astonishment.

But Geoffrey Cousland knelt down and freed the elf from his bonds. 

"Yes, a fine plan," Morrigan intoned. "I would check my food and drink more carefully from now on, however."

Zevran rubbed his wrists, fixing Geoffrey with a sharp, somewhat suspicious stare. It was clear he hadn't expected his last-minute gambit to work, and was probably wondering if Geoffrey was planning on doing something terrible to him later.

He wasn't. "Now, Alistair, considering who we're up against, is an assassin really a bad addition?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Alistair made a face. "I guess not, but if we ever needed a sign we were desperate, I think it's here."

Zevran had immediately begun flirting with Leliana, which was annoying her, though she still helped him patch up his wounds from the fight. Once he was good enough to walk, they made their way back to camp, where Sten was sitting by the embers of the fire, sharpening blades.

"Who is that?" he asked in his rumbling voice, indicating Zevran.

Zevran introduced himself. Sten stared at Geoffrey with what looked like a mix of confusion and begrudging respect, then turned back to the sword in his lap. "I did not see any darkspawn while you were gone, Warden. Just a few wolves." He pointed to the bodies, which he'd already skinned.

"Thank you, Sten." Geoffrey might be intimidated by the man, but he wasn't going to ignore work well done. "We should push forward to Lake Calenhad tomorrow. We're, what, another day or so out from the mage tower, Alistair?"

Alistair, who was sitting by the fire removing his armor, looked up and nodded. "Yeah, thereabouts." 

Setting up his tent, Geoffrey sighed. "Good. I just hope we don't run into another mess."

"Oh, don't say that!" Leliana piped up. "Now we definitely will!" 

Zevran coughed awkwardly. "Not to interrupt this fine conversation, but where am I to sleep and such?"

"Oh of course. Uh." Geoffrey looked around as if a tent might just appear out of the night, then remembered that was silly. "Er, one moment." He got up and went over to Bodahn, who was reading to Sandal beside their cart. "Hello, Bodahn, sorry to bother you so late, but you wouldn't happen to have any tents, by chance?"

"Afraid not, my lord." The dwarf did always sound genuinely sorry when he couldn't help. "We should be able to restock some of those essentials when we reach the next town. Surely there's one near Lake Calenhad."

Geoffrey nodded. "Thank you anyway, Bodahn. Do you need anything?"

"No, my lord. Thank you for asking."

"Enchantment?" Sandal asked.

Geoffrey smiled at him. "Not tonight, Sandal. But maybe tomorrow. We'll need to get our new companion properly equipped, won't we?"

Sandal grinned and clapped his hands. "Enchantment!" 

A smile still on his face, Geoffrey returned to the camp proper. Zevran was waiting expectantly. 

"So, we've no extra tent at the moment," Geoffrey explained. "So you'll have to share with someone until we get one for you."

"Not me," Leliana said quickly, as Zevran turned to smirk at her. 

"No," Sten said, and entered his tent, closing the flap firmly. 

Alistair was making a face. "I… could take him," he said reluctantly.

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable, Alistair," Geoffrey said.

"He tried to kill you not five hours ago!"

"He gave his word!"

" _He's an assassin!_ "

"If it would make this easier, I'm happy to sleep out here by the fire," Zevran said. "It is a nice night, after all."

Alistair relaxed slightly. "That seems like the best option, Geoff."

Geoffrey looked between the two of them, then finally nodded, ruffling his dark hair under a hand. "Alright. I'll take first watch." 

"Geoff," Alistair said warily, coming closer to lean into his ear. "I _really_ don't think you should be alone with this guy."

They both looked at Zevran, who gave them a cheery closed-mouth smile, as if he were unaware they were talking about him.

"I want to talk to him," Geoffrey murmured back. "Look, I'll keep my armor on and my sword in reach, okay? I'll wake you in a few hours." 

Reluctantly, Alistair nodded and entered his tent. Geoffrey saw the flap twitch as Alistair tied it shut. As if that would stop a dagger.

He got a spare bedroll out of his pack and returned to the fire, setting the bundle beside it to warm.

 

The moon was bright overhead, almost full, a spot of beauty in a world that seemed all too ugly as of late. Geoffrey settled down next to the fire and threw a new log in, bringing it back up. He waved Zevran over. "Come, sit," he said warmly.

Zevran did, dropping his hips as he walked. It was meant to draw Geoffrey's attention, and he knew it, but that didn't stop it from working. The elf smirked. "Suspicious friends you have there," he said. "He must care for you a lot, yes?" The implication hung in the air. He was fishing.

Geoffrey chuckled. "Handsome though he may be, Alistair has no romantic interest toward men. Shame really, but what can I do?" He turned back to the fire, poking at it idly with a new stick before throwing it in.

"A shame indeed." Zevran's gaze remained on Geoffrey's face. "I suppose you do not share your friend's disinterest?"

Geoffrey smiled. "Not at all. One could say I'm quite his opposite."

Zevran raised an eyebrow. "Good to know. So, I suppose now I know why you decided to let me live?" He rested a hand on Geoffrey's knee.

Something cold and wet settled in Geoffrey's stomach and he pulled away. "I wouldn't ask someone to sleep with me under threat of death. I let you live because I believed your story, and could definitely use the extra sword arm."

Naked confusion settled on Zevran's face. He suddenly looked young, perhaps only a year or two older than Geoffrey, instead of the decade or so he'd seemed at first. But he recovered quickly. "So, I can sleep with you, but _not_ because I think you'll kill me if I don't? Good to know. How about now?" He grinned.

That coldness didn't leave the pit of Geoffrey's stomach. "Not tonight," he said lightly. "We have to keep watch, remember?"

"Ah yes, for darkspawn. Because you are a Grey Warden." Zevran nodded to himself. "You know, I have never fought darkspawn. Any tips?"

He'd asked the question casually, but Geoffrey gave him a serious answer. "Keep the blood away from your mouth and any open wounds."

"Good to know," Zevran said, but his voice trailed off, swallowed up in the crackle of the fire. 

The silence grew awkward. Geoffrey pulled out his journal and started to write, as he usually did on his turn to stay up. Zevran watched him quietly for a time, then said, "You know, this is not how I imagined my evening."

Geoffrey looked up, raising an eyebrow. "Oh? And what were you expecting?"

"Well, had I succeeded, I probably would have gone back to the inn, helped myself to drink and company, then started arranging my trip back to Antiva City. And if I failed, well, I'd be dead. Or so I thought. So I'm a bit at a loss of what exactly you need from me."

His expression in the firelight was hard to read, shadows licking at lines cut deep in too-young skin. Geoffrey closed his book and set it in his lap. "All I ask is that you have my back in the battles to come, and to be able to trust there will be no more attempts on my or Alistair's lives."

"That's all?"

"That's all." Geoffrey smiled warmly. "You should get some sleep. Tomorrow we'll get you outfitted in better equipment. I think I have a longsword that will hold up better than the one you have, and I… kind of ruined your armor. Sorry about that."

Zevran smirked, but it sat more genuinely on his face than before. "Well, I was trying to kill you at the time, so I suppose it's understandable."

"Regardless, we'll get you fitted for a new set as soon as we can. Alistair and I are pretty good at adapting whatever bits we come across to suit, but there's nothing like a custom fit."

"I do not think I've ever had custom-fitted armor before," Zevran said thoughtfully. "Just standard pieces like these."

Geoffrey smiled. "Then you're in for a treat next time we find a blacksmith. There's supposedly one in Denerim who's a genius at armorsmithing, but we're not going there for a good long while."

"What are we doing now then?"

"Right now we're on our way to get the help of the mages in dealing with a demon in Redcliffe. There's a blood mage there who says he can help, but it would require sacrificing the boy's mother and…" Geoffrey frowned, rubbing his head. "I couldn't condone that. So we're running the risky, but hopefully successful, gambit of getting reinforcements from the Circle."

"I see," Zevran said neutrally. 

Geoffrey swallowed, feeling a heavy need to explain. "Because I don't think the child or his father would thank me for it," he stammered. "I… I just lost my mother, and I. I can't inflict that on a young boy. I can't. Not if there's a chance she could be saved."

Zevran watched him quietly, thoughtfully, firelight flickering off of hazel brown eyes.

Geoffrey ducked his head. "You should get some sleep. I'll keep watch."

"As you say." Zevran lay out the bedroll and settled down. Geoffrey went back to his journal, occasionally looking up to watch the elf sleep. Definitely younger than he'd first thought, he said to himself. He wondered what sort of life lead to becoming an Antivan assassin. Probably not a very good one.

He added a line to his journal of the day's events. _The assassin seems an interesting man. I hope I will be able to get to know him better._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran and Geoffrey get to know each other.

Whatever Zevran had expected Grey Wardens to be, Geoffrey and Alistair were not it. They were young and handsome, first of all, not grizzled old warriors with more scars than face. Alistair had a childish sense of humor, which the witch did not appreciate at all, and Geoffrey seemed to have a heart of spun gold, with a body of steel protect it from harm.

When the mage tower appeared to be overrun with demons, Geoffrey insisted they try to rescue the mages still uncorrupted. The slam of the templar doors behind them was one of the most chilling sounds Zevran had ever heard. Well, it was too late to turn back, even if he was regretting agreeing to come.

But even trapped in the Fade, Geoffrey refused to back down, refused to acknowledge hopelessness. Zevran wanted to call him naive, but how could he, when Geoffrey just kept following through on impossible promises?

The night after the insanity of the mage tower, no one slept. Zevran watched as Geoffrey rummaged through his bag, offering various things he'd picked up to his companions. Odd little mystical things for Alistair, religious iconography for Leliana, jewelry for Morrigan, paintings for Sten (did the giant paint?).

To Zevran's surprise, Geoffrey approached him last, holding a small bar of gold. He smiled apologetically. "I… don't know what you'd like, but I figured payment for the mess you've been dragged through would be good." 

"I owe you my life. I don't need any payment," Zevran insisted. He was already wearing new armor and wielding weapons enchanted by the dwarf's son. That was already almost too much. 

"Please, I insist." Geoffrey pressed the gold into his hand, then smiled. "Could we talk?"

"Oh? What about?" Zevran put the gold away and sat down, waving for the Warden to join him. 

"I want to know more about you, if that's okay. Why did you decide to leave the Crows?"

And Zevran answered him honestly. He deserved no less, especially right after giving him a literal bar of solid gold. And, Zevran admitted to himself, he wanted to know more about the Warden too. All he really knew was that he was recently orphaned and a new Grey Warden. Also, interested in men. Surely there was more to be known than just those things.

However, the conversation soon turned more serious and more Zevran-focused than he'd been anticipating. "You didn't choose to become a Crow?" 

So Zevran related the story of his purchase. He knew such things were not practiced in Ferelden, at least not openly, but he hadn't expected the naked sympathy in those blue eyes. 

Geoffrey reached to touch his shoulder, but stopped himself, pulling back, as if afraid he were crossing some sort of boundary. "Zevran, that's awful, I'm so sorry."

Zevran tried to deflect. Being a Crow wasn't all bad, after all. "It gets you women. And men." Here he gave the Warden a knowing smile. "Whatever it is you fancy."

That white skin did nothing to hide the blood that rushed into his cheeks and nose. "Oh?" he said, trying for sultry. It was cute. "And what is it you fancy, Zevran?" 

"Would you be offended if I said I fancied you?"

The Warden's face tightened a little, his eyes flickering away. 

Apparently yes. Ah well. 

Zevran pushed the conversation forward. "As for what I'll do in the future…" 

The Warden left soon after that, leaving Zevran feeling rather uncomfortably exposed. He took the bar of gold out of his pocket, turning it over in his hands. He wondered if he should stop flirting with him, but would such a thing be suspicious at this point? 

He would worry about it in the morning, he decided.

\-- 

Even after their awkward parting of that night, Geoffrey seemed genuinely curious about Zevran. He asked all sorts of questions, about assassinating, about Antiva, about Zevran himself. 

"You know, Warden," Zevran said one evening in the Frostback Mountains, "For all that you now know about me, I know very little about you."

"What do you wish to know about me?"

Zevran grinned. "First kiss."

Geoffrey laughed. "Should I really be surprised? Let's see… First one ever, or first one I initiated?"

"Ooh, if you must make the distinction, than both."

With a fond shake of his head, Geoffrey adjusted his position, tugging his ankle over his knee. "First kiss ever, I was perhaps twelve? Thirteen? My mother was starting to talk about marriages. I'm a second son, so it wasn't as vital, but she wanted to be on top of it. 

"So Arl Bryland was visiting, negotiating about his daughter. I don't recall her name, actually. She was something like six years my junior, which isn't terrible as an adult, but when you're a boy of thirteen who wants nothing but to play with his friends and his dog, spending time with a seven year old girl is not terribly appealing. She threw a fit and declared that I _would_ be her husband and kissed me square on the mouth." He scrunched up his nose. "I never saw her again after that."

Zevran clucked his tongue. "Truly, nobles live such different lives from we commoners. Tell me about the other."

"The first person I kissed of my own volition was a knight in the service of Highever. I was sixteen. He was about the same age, a little older, but we'd trained in the sword together for years. I had quite the crush." Geoffrey's expression saddened. "His name was Gilmore. Lovely red hair, easy smile, liked to tell stories. Though he turned me down after I kissed him, he never let us be strangers."

"Did something happen to him?" Zevran had heard bits and pieces of what had happened to the Warden's family, mostly by eavesdropping on him and Alistair. A noble coup, it sounded like. A man named Howe had arranged to kill Geoffrey's family and take over their holdings. 

"He held the throne room while my mother and I tried to find my father and escape," Geoffrey explained quietly. "Last I saw him, he was bleeding from wounds in his stomach, telling us to run as quickly as we could."

Zevran touched his arm. "I am sorry. I had no idea such an innocent question would lead to so dark a place."

Geoffrey shook his head, briefly rubbed at his eyes. "Of course. It's not your fault." He sniffed, then smiled. "What about you? Your first kiss?"

Zevran felt his face twist. "I don't think you should ask questions you don't want answers to, Warden. Just suffice it to remember I grew up among whores, and then among assassins who are trained to use seduction to get close to a mark."

At least the Warden was quick enough to realize what Zevran was implying and shut his mouth. "I. I am so sorry, Zevran."

"For what? You did nothing. And I'm hardly traumatized over it; I just knew you would make that face, and assumed you would rather be spared the details."

Geoffrey's expression grew solemn. He was looking at Zevran intently, like he was some sort of book to be analyzed. Zevran was tempted to ask about his first time having sex, if just to diffuse the tension, but he got the sneaking suspicion that Geoffrey would turn the question back on him, and he most _definitely_ didn't want to know when Zevran first started learning about sex.

"You know what you haven't told me yet?" Zevran asked instead.

Geoffrey raised an eyebrow. 

"How in the world do you know Sten?"

Zevran was glad to see the smile return to his face.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geoffrey learns why Zevran wanted to leave the Crows.

It became quite difficult for Geoffrey to travel around without Zevran at his side. The assassin was good company, charming and funny. It was always amusing to watch he and Wynne bounce off of each other, so starkly different. 

Geoffrey liked Wynne. He'd barely known his grandmothers. His mother's mother had died before Geoffrey's birth and his father's mother shortly after, so having the mage around was both a novel experience and a comforting one.

She did have a bad habit of harassing Zevran though. Ashes secured, they were traveling back to Redcliffe, worn and tired, as well as exposed. They had all had uncomfortable secrets brought to light by the Ashes' Guardian.

"The Guardian said that you regretted what you've done, Zevran. There is no harm in talking more about it, is there?" Wynne was asking him. 

"Leave it be," he snapped, his voice uncharacteristically cold. "I did not wish to discuss it with him, and I certainly do not wish to discuss it with you."

Geoffrey and Alistair stopped and stared in shock. Zevran glanced at them out of the corner of his eye, then looked back at Wynne, who wore a similar expression. He smiled. "I am sorry, my dear Wynne, I did not mean to snap at you. We are all very tired, yes? Let us return to our camp and get a good night's rest."

The rest of the journey was completed in silence. Their camp outside of Haven was being maintained mainly by Sten, who seemed perpetually annoyed. Leliana was tuning her lute. Morrigan was lounging well away from them, reading from her mother's grimoire.

"Were you successful?" Sten asked.

Geoffrey nodded. "Thank you for making sure we had a safe place to return, Sten."

Sten grunted and went to his tent. Geoffrey had an uncomfortable feeling that Sten would not be listening to him for much longer.

"You have the Ashes?" Leliana asked, her eyes shining. "May I see?"

Geoffrey removed the pouch from his bag, showing it to her. She breathed in awe and began to speak excitedly about Andraste. Geoffrey spotted Zevran trying to sneak back to his tent without drawing attention.

For now, he decided that he would give the man his privacy.

\-- 

Geoffrey did not envy Bann Teagan and Lady Isolde, having to explain all of the current events to the newly-woken Arl Eamon. It was nice to sleep indoors again though. 

He sank happily into the bed, Hardwin jumping up next to him and sitting on his stomach. Geoffrey chuckled and rubbed his ears. "You smell, you big oaf."

Hardwin whined and rested his chin on Geoffrey's chest, staring at him with sad eyes.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to make you bathe while we're here."

Hardwin barked happily and settled down to sleep. 

"It seems like it's nice to be a Grey Warden," came Zevran's voice from the doorway. "I am supposed to share a room with Sten. We are not happy with this arrangement."

Geoffrey smiled. "It's only for a night. Though I've no issue with you sleeping on the couch in here if Alistair has no objection."

Zevran looked at the small couch speculatively. "I shall think on it," he decided. He looked back at Geoffrey and his dog. Said dog was snuffling as he slept. "I am not sure whether to be jealous of him or not."

Geoffrey chuckled quietly, trying not to disturb the dog. "He'll be on the floor eventually. I hate sleeping on my back."

"Good to know," Zevran said, sitting down on the far side of the bed. "Are you happy with how everything turned out?"

"You know?" Geoffrey said thoughtfully. "I am. It wasn't perfect, of course, but we saved all the people we could and no one is possessed. I will call that very much a success."

Zevran nodded. "I wonder if there is some magic to being a Grey Warden. It seems to me that the world seems to go out of its way to cooperate with you."

Hardwin grumbled as Geoffrey shook with laughter again. "I wish that were the case. Though perhaps the Maker had His hand in this latest venture?"

Zevran shrugged. "If that were the case, I think we would not have had to tiptoe around a dragon."

Geoffrey laughed, and Hardwin huffed in protest of the shaking. "Fair enough," he said, scratching the dog's ears. 

Zevran lingered in the doorway.

"Something wrong?" Geoffrey asked.

"Mm." Zevran sat down on the couch, looking unusually serious. "You asked about the last mission I did before I came to Ferelden."

Geoffrey gave Hardwin a good shake and got him to get up and move to the floor. As the dog grumbled, Geoffrey sat up, moving to sit at the end of the bed, feet firmly planted on the floor. "I did. You didn't want to talk about it."

"I think you deserve to hear it. You have been a good friend, Warden."

It felt odd to see a serious Zevran, as if he were looking at something dreadfully private. "You don't owe me anything, Zevran."

Zevran snorted. "That is hardly true. But don't worry, I _want_ to tell you. Truly. The mission before this one… It did not end well."

\-- 

It was uncomfortable, hearing about Zevran's past love. It hurt, in fact. Geoffrey buried _that_ depressing information away somewhere deep. Zevran had loved a beautiful elven woman with eyes that burned like justice. A bumbling idealistic fool of a man like Geoffrey? Hardly Zevran's type it seemed.

"You asked me once why I wanted to leave the Crows," Zevran continued, eyes fixed on his hands as they slowly curled and uncurled in his lap. "In truth, I didn't. What I wanted was to die."

Geoffrey was seized by a bizarre impulse to apologize.

"And then… this happened." His eyes came up to meet Geoffrey's. "I owe you a great deal, Warden."

Geoffrey reached forward and rested a hand on Zevran's arm, unsure of what to say. He settled for, "I'm glad you're with us now, Zevran."

Zevran smiled a little. "It feels good to talk about it with someone. Thank you for listening."

Geoffrey smiled back. "Anytime. That is what friends are for."

"Mm, friends." Zevran tilted his head. "Something not found among Crows. I think I would like being your friend, Warden."

Why did that make Geoffrey want to cry?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who can turn down the offer of an Antivan massage?

Zevran had met Dalish before, when they'd camped outside Antiva City. He and Rinna had gone to meet them. It had been quite an experience. The clan had been rather unkind toward the two city elves in their midst, watching them with thinly veiled distrust. But the clan had let them stay for a week to prove themselves.

Rinna had hated it. She refused to be barefoot in the forest. She complained about sleeping outside, when many of the other elves had aravels to sleep in. After three days, Rinna had been ready to return to Antiva City and declare the venture done. 

Before they left, the _hahren_ had drawn Zevran aside. Her gray hair was pulled back away from her age-lined face, braided into a long plait down her back. "Zevran," she said gently. "You don't have to leave if you don't want to. We will leave this place soon, and if you join our clan, we will protect you from those who would hunt you down."

And Zevran had looked at her, then back to Rinna, waiting impatiently at the edge of camp. "I am sorry, hahren," Zevran had answered. 

She'd squeezed his hand, understanding and sadness in her eyes, and let him go. Upon his return to Antiva City, he'd gotten the twin lines on his face. It was not the blood-writing of the Dalish—he hadn't earned that—but it was something. 

So being back among a clan, this time with a ragtag band of humans (and a Qunari), came with a strange sense of deja vu. He did not like the coldness with which they treated Geoffrey. Human he may be, but from the moment he stepped foot in their camp, he had been nothing but polite and friendly, which is certainly more than Rinna had been.

Their Keeper made Zevran's skin itch, though he couldn't quite put a finger on why. Or maybe it was just the groaning of those sick and injured, afflicted by the mysterious curse. Of course there was a dangerous mission to undertake. With the Grey Wardens, there was _always_ a dangerous mission to undertake. 

Geoffrey, being as ~~nosy~~ friendly as he was, took to poking around the camp a little before setting off into the woods. As he was busy bartering with the craftsman, Zevran walked around and looked at all the statues. This clan had much larger ones than the Antivan clan, perhaps because their Keeper was so old? Zevran couldn't say.

He found himself in front of a statue of a women, her outstretched arms shifting into dragon's wings. There was a certain fierce beauty to her that he admired. He felt Geoffrey's hand on his shoulder. "Come on, Zev. The forest awaits."

Zevran snorted. "Joy," he said flatly, raising an eyebrow. "I am so excited."

Geoffrey smiled a little and let him go, gesturing for him to follow. 

" _Into the woods we go,_ " Zevran said to himself in Antivan, and he turned from the statue and hurried along behind Geoffrey.

\-- 

As they walked, Zevran and Geoffrey chatted. Zevran talked about his Dalish mother and her journey from wilderness to Antiva City, and about how he'd ended up in the whorehouse he'd been bought from. 

In return, Geoffrey told him about his mother. She sounded like a good-humored and noble woman, and who yet still had the same sort of ferocity Zevran was coming to associate with Fereldans. 

"It didn't matter how tall or broad Fergus and I got, she'd still tug our ears for the minorest offenses," he explained with a chuckle. "And she wasn't afraid to speak plainly to us; if we did something wrong, we knew it, company be damned." And yet the smile faded from his face, and he looked up at the patches of sky shining down through the canopy of leaves and boughs. "She didn't have to die," he said, softly at first, but with swiftly growing anger. "She could have run. I should have made her!" He clenched his fists, then let them fall with a sigh. 

Zevran put his hand on Geoffrey's arm, and said nothing. Sometimes, words didn't help.

After a moment, Geoffrey's hand came to rest over Zevran's, his large, warm fingers curling between Zevran's slender ones. "Thank you," he said, giving him a wan, but genuine smile. 

And Zevran met his eye with a soft smile of his own.

\--

The peaceful walk was not to last. 

Curse Geoffrey's soft heart.

"So, Zathrian is the one who cursed you? For crimes committed by your _grandparents_?" Geoffrey asked the Lady of the Forest and her werewolves. Zevran did not like that tone, that tone of sympathy, that tone of anger at Zathrian.

"Warden," he said quietly, urgently. Zathrian was not his clan. They did not deserve to suffer for their Keeper's crimes.

Geoffrey sighed out of his nose, his normally-cheery face drawn and serious. "Fine, we will fetch Zathrian for you."

The Lady smiled and opened the way back up to the surface, the glitter of her doll black eyes making Zevran's skin itch until they reached the top of the stairs. There, they ran into Zathrian and everything went to shit.

Still, in the end, the clan was safe, the werewolves were cured, and Zevran was again left shaking his head at Geoffrey's luck. As they were making their way back to the clan's camp, Geoffrey broke away from the front of the group to come walk beside Zevran. "Thank you," he said.

"For?" 

"I almost lost sight of myself there for a minute." He chuckled ruefully. "I suppose it's prejudiced of me, to think of humans over elves."

Zevran shrugged. "You acknowledge it, at least," he teased. "I suppose that is a solid first step." 

Geoffrey chuckled again. "Maker," he sighed. "I'm exhausted."

Wynne approached him, setting a hand on his shoulder, her palm glowing with faint magic. Zevran obligingly stepped out of her way, but he didn't miss the way Geoffrey's gaze followed him. "Come, Warden," Wynne said. "We'll get back to camp."

Zevran watched the Warden's back, noting the tightness in his neck and shoulders despite the healing magic. Perhaps he could be of use beyond his skill with blades and poison. Perhaps he'd bed the Warden yet. 

When Geoffrey looked back to give him a small smile, Zevran grinned back.

\-- 

"A massage?" Geoffrey asked uncertainly.

"A massage," Zevran repeated, curling his fingers. "Surely you would appreciate it?"

"I would, but…" There was a blush on his face, his blue gaze skittering away like a frightened fox, and Zevran's smirk deepened. 

"It will not be more than a massage," he assured him. "Unless you _wish_ it to be more, of course."

He expected more blushing, perhaps a bit of stammering, but instead Geoffrey just looked a bit sad. It took some effort for Zevran to maintain his expression. 

"Alright," Geoffrey agreed at last.

Zevran grinned. "Excellent!" Placing his hands on the Warden's shoulders, he guided the young man back to his tent. 

Geoffrey took his time in removing his heavy armor, oddly silent as he did. Zevran waited patiently as it was set aside, revealing the dark fabric of his shirt. It was taut over the musculature of Geoffrey's chest and shoulders—he'd grown since first having it made. 

Once all the metal had been laid out against the tent wall, Geoffrey looked at Zevran. "I'm ready."

Normally, Zevran would've insisted on the shirt being removed as well, but the Warden seemed so awkward, the atmosphere so oddly heavy, that he only asked that he lie facedown on the bedroll. "Now, I shall kneel over you, so as to have the best angle," Zevran explained, so he didn't get spooked. 

Geoffrey nodded against his pillow, and it was hard (heh) for Zevran not to imagine this position becoming decidedly less innocent. Still, he could control himself when it was required of him, so he simply kneeled over the Warden's lower back, straddling his hips, and began rubbing at his shoulders with the heels of his hands. 

However, Geoffrey was soon making tiny little noises of pleasure, and Andraste's tits, Zevran was beginning to get downright grumpy that he'd promised this night would remain innocent. It just wasn't fair sometimes. Was he not attractive? The Warden stared readily enough, touched easily enough lately. But whenever Zevran proposed actual physicality, he was rejected—kindly, but rejected all the same. It did not make sense.

His frustration traveled into his hands, and he pressed too hard. Instead of hissing in pain and instinctively pulling away however, Geoffrey groaned deeper and pressed back into the touch. Zevran smirked. "Oh, I see," he purred. "You're the sort who enjoys a bit of roughness, are you?"

Zevran dragged his nails over the Warden's bare neck and watched the blush appear beneath the white scratchmarks. Geoffrey's hips shifted between his legs. On a hunch, Zevran lowered himself onto Geoffrey's ass, pressing those hips firmly to the ground, eliciting a strangled little moan. 

"You know, Warden," he said. "You don't make sense to me. All this time, you've acted as if sleeping with me would be like kicking your dog. But still you flirted and smiled and touched, and now here we are, both, shall we say, ready to go. What do you want, Warden?"

Geoffrey buried his face in the pillow, mumbling something that made his ears turn scarlet. 

"Hmm? I didn't catch that," Zevran purred, ghosting his fingertips over Geoffrey's back. 

Geoffrey turned enough to free his mouth. "I want _you_ ," he murmured. But was still sad? _Why_? Zevran couldn't figure it out, but he only knew of one surefire cure for sadness anyway. 

So he grinned and leaned down to brush his lips against Geoffrey's ear. "And how, exactly, do you want me?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If all you can have is a taste, could you resist a feast?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back from Japan! Enjoy two chapters on the house. :D

Geoffrey lay on his bedroll, sleepily watching Zevran nap beside him. He knew the slightest touch would wake him, yet he wanted nothing more than to run his knuckle over the two sinuous lines on Zevran's cheek. He sighed and tucked his arms under himself to restrain the urge. This had been a wonderful, glorious mistake.

Maker, Zevran put his experience to good use, and Geoffrey was fucked, in all senses of the word. There was a pleasant ache in his shoulders, hips, and ass. There was a painful one in his heart. 

He curled around himself more tightly, and Zevran stirred, sucking in a deep breath as he woke. He groaned as he stretched and rolled over to look at Geoffrey, a lazy smirk on his face. "Well, hello there," he said warmly.

Geoffrey pushed his hurt aside and smiled. "Hello, stranger." It was a perilous journey, probably destined to end in death. Might as well take what physical comforts would come, right? "So, what now?" he asked.

Zevran yawned and reached over to ruffle Geoffrey's hair. "Whatever comes next is up to you, Warden," he said easily. "If I may have an opinion however, I would like to do that again. Preferably soon."

Geoffrey chuckled. "Well, at least we're on the same page." 

Zevran gave him an easy grin, then yawned and fell back into a light doze. Geoffrey rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in the crook of his arm, torn between relaxation and regret. This is what he'd wanted, he tried to tell himself. But he thought of Zevran's confession, about a beautiful woman whose eyes burned with justice, and his stomach knotted so tightly that he curled himself against it, suddenly seized with the desire to cry.

\--

He remembered about the gloves when he awoke. He'd found them at the Dalish camp, and traded with Master Varathorn for them, moving quickly while Zevran was distracted by his flirting with the new Keeper. (She hadn't appreciated it.)

Slowly, he sat up and moved over to his bag, rummaging around until he found them, tucked into one another so they wouldn't lose their partner. He'd never found leather so supple and soft before. He passed the time by stroking them, marveling at the tightly woven seams and the warmth of a leather so thin. 

When Zevran finally awoke properly, it was with a great yawn. He looked around the tent as if surprised at himself that he was still there. Geoffrey held out the gloves to him. "Here, for you."

"Gloves?" Zevran said in confusion, taking them. "They're… very nice, but why are you giving them to me?"

Geoffrey felt his face heat up, and he turned away in sudden enrapturement with the joint of his ankle. "I thought they would be like your mother's, since they're Dalish." He snuck a peek under his lashes.

He lived for the softening of Zevran's expression, the subtle shift of his features as years of practiced persona fell away and were replaced by a younger man, a less haunted man. "So they are," he said, turning them over in his hands. "I will treasure them. Thank you." His words were wondering and sincere.

Geoffrey smiled at him, enjoying the sight—not only of Zevran's pleasure but of the image of him sitting naked in his bedroll. The morning light set the tent aglow, and for now, it was easy to pretend that they were lovers. The thought made his smile fall. "So, what happens now?" he asked.

"Hm?" Zevran asked, looking up from admiring his new gloves. He chuckled. "That, my dear Warden, is up to you. If you'd like this to end here, then it ends here. If you'd prefer this to continue, it could do that as well."

"Only a physical relationship?" Geoffrey confirmed with a heavy heart.

Zevran laughed. "We are not children chasing after bedtime stories, Warden. Of course it would be."

Though he'd expected the answer, it settled like lead in the pit of Geoffrey's stomach. He should refuse. He should confess. He should free himself from this whirlpool that would only drag him deeper with time. 

"Well, who am I to turn down a handsome elf in my bed?" he asked instead.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party goes to Denerim.

Zevran and Geoffrey had a lot of sex. _A lot._

Zevran had greatly underestimated the virility and stamina of young noblemen with certain predilections and a solid bonus from the fabled Grey Warden stamina. He was fairly certain the entire camp knew about their liaisons, as Geoffrey was many things, but _quiet_ was not one of them (unless he was gagged, hehe). 

He preened at Morrigan whenever she glared, but he was gentler to Leliana. She didn't deserve his gloating. Neither of them had ever stood a chance anyway, if Geoffrey was to be believed about his attractions. 

It was just outside the doors of Orzammar, where the party had set up their little camp among the bare snowy trees, that he overheard the conversation with Wynne. 

The two of them had gone into the trees for privacy, but Zevran had good ears and an eye for the Warden's back. Cat-like, he'd crept into the tent nearest them—Wynne's—and sat still, closing his eyes to better hear. 

"Men like that have only one thing on their mind," Wynne was chiding, a grandmother through and through.

Zevran smirked at that. Ah, it was true. 

"No," Geoffrey said, and the passion in his voice caught Zevran off-guard. "He is not as shallow as you would like to believe, Wynne. I respect you, and I respect what you're trying to do, but if I wouldn't let my own mother direct my romantic life, I'm certainly not going to let _you_ do it."

There was a moment of silence, the wind rushing through the creaking trees. "You love him, don't you?" Wynne asked at last, her voice softer.

Zevran's heart clenched when he caught the soft gasp of a suppressed sob. 

"Oh, Geoffrey," Wynne said in a gentle voice, pitying. _He won't ever love you back_ , hung, unspoken, in the wintery air.

Zevran slipped out of Wynne's tent and went to his own, his thoughts spinning so fast he didn't even smile at Leliana as he passed her. He drew his favorite knife up out of his boot and began to rock it in his fingers, a soothing, familiar motion. 

He was _loved_.

He didn't know what to do. 

Suddenly, sex _meant_ something. Now, when Geoffrey smiled at him, blue eyes gentle, big hands warm on his face, that expression meant _I love you_. Zevran had never before been cherished, and it was terrifying as much as it was exhilarating.

Orzammar led to Redcliffe and political plans and hushed whispers between noblemen in the night. Those led to Denerim and more scheming. 

When Geoffrey and his people were asked to break the Queen Anora out of Arl Howe's clutches, Geoffrey's hands clenched as he smiled. "With pleasure, Arl Eamon. Howe and I have business to conclude."

Arl Eamon nodded. "Do what you must."

And when he and the slimy bastard came face to face, Zevran was honestly shocked by the viciousness that took over the Warden when Howe taunted him to attack. Both he and Alistair actually stepped back as Geoffrey brutally slammed his shield—emblazoned with the Cousland crest—into the arl's face, shattering his nose as he crumpled to the ground.

Geoffrey dropped his sword then and knelt down next to Howe's face, swallowing the old man's neck with his gauntleted hand. "Beg for your miserable life," he growled, and Zevran honestly didn't know whether to be scared or incredibly aroused.

Howe begged prettily.

"I bet my nephew begged better." Geoffrey slit the man's throat with his own dagger and stood, stooping down to reclaim his sword.

Alistair put a hand on Geoffrey's shoulder, but he was shrugged away. They retrieved Anora and almost immediately found themselves at the mercy of the king's guard, Geoffrey still splattered with the dead arl's blood. 

Looking back at the hidden Anora, stone-faced, he sheathed his sword and surrendered, allowing himself and Alistair to be led away. 

Zevran was livid. 

He confronted Eamon. "I don't understand why we're just sitting here while the Warden is locked up in a prison!" he fumed. "And why we are not angry at the Queen for not stepping in." He glared daggers at Anora, dressed in her fine regal clothing and looking barely a hair distressed.

"And how was I supposed explain the apparently unprovoked murder of Arl Howe?" she asked patiently.

"The truth?" Morrigan suggested, raising an eyebrow. "'Twas my impression that such blood feuds were understood in Ferelden. And in a time of civil war? 'Tis not surprising. Arl Howe did have a teyrn, teyrna, _and_ their young grandson murdered in cold blood."

"Arl Eamon, we need them freed. Let Zevran and I infiltrate the prison and get them out," Leliana suggested. "We can do it easily, right, Zevran?" She looked at him and smiled.

He knew she was expecting him to smile back, but he found he could only grimace. "Of course we can. Child's play to a Crow and a bard."

"Former bard," she corrected.

"Former Crow," he pointed out.

"So long as you don't make a scene," Eamon relented.

The two rogues clasped hands and nodded. "Let's go and change," Leliana said. Zevran followed, mentally brewing his poison arsenal for the assault. 

\--

They found Geoffrey and Alistair caught in mid-escape, their armor stripped, their knuckles bloodied. Zevran laughed as Geoffrey abruptly shifted demeanor—fierce anger suddenly giving way to an enthusiastic puppy as he grabbed Zevran into his arms, squeezing tightly. "Thank the Maker you came," he breathed into Zevran's ear and it… _did_ something to him, turning something in his chest soft and fragile.

"Happy to come for you anytime," Zevran answered with a smirk, but his heart wasn't quite in the innuendo. 

Geoffrey laughed anyway.

"Can we, um, go now?" Alistair piped up. "I would really like to put on pants." 

A small giggle bubbled up from Leliana. "But we're so enjoying the view!"

Zevran leered at him over Geoffrey's bicep. "Has anyone ever told you that you have a lovely ass, Alistair?"

His only answer was a crimson face and a teakettle impression, before brisking walking away to try and find his armor and weapons. Zevran felt Geoffrey's laughter against him, and the press of lips to his temple. "Thank you, Zevran," he said, his voice so painfully sincere. 

"Whenever you need, my dear Warden," he answered softly, taking Geoffrey's hand and touching the palm to his lips. 

Never before did Zevran have someone to cherish. Perhaps Geoffrey could be the first.

\-- 

They retrieved the Wardens' gear and clothing and made their way out of the prison, quick as they could. As they traveled through the streets, Zevran noticed signs that a new Crow was in town, after the departure of Ignacio. His throat tightened, for he had a strong suspicion of who had come to town—and his suspicions were rarely wrong. 

When they were back at Arl Eamon's estate, Zevran wasted no time in getting Geoffrey upstairs and out of sight of political schemers. Once there, he helped Geoffrey out of his armor and underclothes, taking the time to check him over for injuries. 

The guards at Arl Howe's estate had not been gentle. Bruises, black with age, had bloomed across his back and chest, and his knuckles were scabbed where he'd punched the prison guards in their full armor. Zevran ran his thumb gently over the rough skin, Geoffrey's fingers against his palm. "You are most impressive, my Warden," he said, before pulling a poultice out of his pack and pressing it against the hand. 

"You and Leliana are the ones who broke into the supposedly impregnable fortress," Geoffrey said, smiling a little as he leaned forward to rest his forehead against Zevran's. 

"I do not doubt you and Alistair would have freed yourselves just fine, given enough time." He pulled the poultice away and began to wrap bandages around Geoffrey's hand, weaving it between his fingers. Finished, he raised the hand to his lips, kissing the palm. "But I am happy we were able to expedite the process."

The hand rose, curling around the back of Zevran's neck, tangling in his hair. "Is something wrong, Zev?" Geoffrey asked, drawing Zevran's gaze. His eyes held concern, and something Zevran could now recognize as love.

He smiled to ease the concern. "Nothing you need to bother with." He patted Geoffrey's cheek. "Now, what say you to having a bath drawn so you can smell pretty to talk to nobles about the Landsmeet?"

There was still some lingering suspicion, but Geoffrey smiled. "Only if you join me," he purred, wrapping his legs around Zevran's hips, pulling the two of them closer. 

Zevran smirked and rested his arms on the Warden's broad shoulders. "Was there ever any doubt of that?"

\--

The next day dawned bright and cold. On the way to the market and the bar of the nobles' choice, the group was ambushed by Crows.

Taliesen looked so much older now. Zevran wondered what had transpired in Antiva City after his departure, or perhaps he looked older because of the time they'd spent apart? 

Zevran's longest comrade and accomplice offered him a deal: complete the mission and return to the Crows, or die with the Warden. Zevran drew his swords and stood in front of Geoffrey. No more words needed be said.

The battle was fraught. Taliesen had brought help, but in the end, Zevran drove his blade into Taliesen's back and turned away as he burbled and bled. He didn't look until the sound stopped.

Geoffrey put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright, Zevran?"

"Of course." But the words rang hollow even to him. Zevran looked up at Geoffrey, taking in the square line of his jaw, the sharp jut of his cheekbones, the long, straight nose. He admired the morning sun behind his black hair and the brightness of those blue eyes, even when shadowed. _I would follow this man forever,_ he realized, and had to look away, out into the alleyway. "Perhaps I should go. The Crows will think me dead for some time perhaps, but it will not last. It would be wise to disappear."

Geoffrey touched his hand. "Do you want to go?" His voice was gentle and sad.

His hand grew warmer as he wrapped it around Geoffrey's. "No, I do not. If you still have need of me, of course."

The answering smile was radiant. "I shall always have need of you, Zevran."

Zevran's chest felt so soft and warm, like a mug of tea and a roaring fire on a rainy day. "Then it is decided then. I will stay." On impulse, he reached into his pack and fumbled about until he clasped his first trophy, the earring. It was a simple but elegant thing, a golden hoop with a single sapphire at the top. He held it out to Geoffrey. "A token of my… Of my gratitude. You have given me much these past months. Allow me to return the favor."

Geoffrey took it and smiled. "Thank you. You will have to help me pierce my ear later."

From behind them, Alistair coughed. "Um. Not to interrupt. But. The Landsmeet? It's tomorrow and we need to talk to a few more banns."

Geoffrey nodded to him. "You're right, Alistair. Sorry." He looked back to Zevran. "Are you ready to go?"

"With you? Always, my Warden."

\-- 

The day of the Landsmeet began as any other day in Denerim, but from the time Zevran opened his eyes, he felt the weight of it on his shoulders. He couldn't imagine how Geoffrey must have felt.

At breakfast, the tension hung heavy in the air, strangling even Wynne's attempts to carry a pleasant conversation. There was a knot in Zevran's stomach—in part because of how close they were to dethroning Loghain of course—but also a feeling deep in his gut that their journey to the Landsmeet was not going to be a simple walk from estate to castle. 

And indeed, when they entered the great doors, Ser Cauthrien stood there, her sword in hand. "You have torn this country apart, Warden," she said fiercely. "I will not let you pass."

Zevran had seen Geoffrey angry. He had seen him compassionate. He had seen him cry. But never before had he seen in him the man who had been raised as a prince. Geoffrey straightened to his full height—Zevran had never noticed before how often he slumped—and spoke in a voice that was not to be overlooked. "Ser Cauthrien, you have served Fereldan faithfully these many years. My father spoke well of you, before Howe's men murdered women and children in cold blood." 

To her credit, she grimaced at that, and Zevran saw the doubt that lurked in her heart.

"The corruption of Orlais is one of the reasons we sought to free ourselves from its yoke, and Loghain is not wrong to mistrust them. But surely you have seen what he has permitted in his madness? The death of Maric and Rowan's son, and the desecration of his body by darkspawn. Entire arlings have been swallowed up by the Blight while he has consolidated power here. Men like Howe have run rampant in their lust for power. Innocent people have been captured and sold into slavery—the very same corruption we fought against not thirty years ago. Though I have no title any longer, I have the right of blood to see this through. 

"Loghain Mac Tir, hero of River Dane, savior of Ferelden, is gone, Ser Cauthrien. Step aside."

For a moment, she raised her sword, glaring at Geoffrey in fury. But she closed her eyes and bowed her head, sliding it back into its sheath. "Lord Cousland," she said quietly, and she stepped aside and knelt.

Geoffrey smiled sadly. "That is my name no longer, but I thank you for honoring my family's memory, Ser Cauthrien. Arl Eamon will give you shelter if you seek it."

"Loghain will not chase me." She seemed confident of that for a moment, but the doubt soon returned. "But thank you. Maker walk with you." Gesturing to her soldiers, Ser Cauthrien stood, marched to the door, and left.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Archdemon awaits.

The Landsmeet had sided with the Arl. Loghain was dead by Alistair's hand, and Howe by Geoffrey's. All that was left was the archdemon, which would be no small feat.

Geoffrey had trouble sleeping as he waited for the army to assemble. His army. It was strange to think about. He sat in the bed, staring out at the moon. Zevran lay beside him, breathing so deeply and regularly that he might actually be asleep, but Geoffrey was certain he'd woken as soon as Geoffrey had sat up. 

To test, he reached down and ran his fingers through Zevran's hair. Zevran leaned up into the touch, like a spoiled cat. "So you are awake," Geoffrey said.

One eye cracked open. "What gave me away?" Zevran asked with a smile.

"If you'd been asleep, you'd be on top of me with a dagger to my throat right now."

Zevran chuckled. "I could arrange that if you like, my dear Warden."

"Mm, what if instead of the dagger it was something else?" Geoffrey shifted onto his side so he could put his hands on either side of Zevran's head. 

"You have such clever ideas, my Warden," Zevran purred, rolling over to wrap his arms around Geoffrey's neck and draw him down into a kiss. After a few minutes, Zevran pulled away. "If you cannot sleep, what say you to our piercing your ear?"

Geoffrey grinned at the idea, a small thrill of being _marked_ as Zevran's sizzling up his spine. He'd been more affectionate lately—one might daresay even tender. It nurtured the hope in Geoffrey's heart that he was not as alone in his romantic daydreams as he'd thought. "Now seems a good time."

So Zevran guided him upright, leaving the bed quickly to retrieve a needle from his pack, along with candles. He lit the candles on the nightstand, giving the room a soft orange glow. He hummed to himself as he heated the needle over the flame. "Do you have the earring?" he asked Geoffrey.

Geoffrey nodded and leaned off the side of the bed, fiddling with the small pouches on his belt until he found it, leaning back up with it held between his fingers.

"Good." Zevran pulled the needle from the flame. "Right or left?"

"Right."

Zevran nodded and took hold of his ear. Geoffrey felt a pinprick of searing heat, and then Zevran was taking the earring from his fingers and sliding it through the new hole, clicking it into place. He blew cool air onto the fresh wound. "Finished."

His earlobe felt very hot, but he felt otherwise unscathed. "That was surprisingly painless."

"I know. The body is an amazing thing." Zevran kissed his temple. "Salt water is the best thing to help it heal, but I doubt you'll find any in the middle of a fraught battle with darkspawn, so… just keep it clean as best you can." 

Geoffrey agreed, tangling his fingers in Zevran's loose hair. He was quiet for a long moment, watching the firelight flicker in Zevran's eyes. "Zevran, I love you, you know that?"

Zevran's expression softened and he sat back so they were face to face, staring at each other in the soft candlelight. "Yes," he said quietly. "I know. And I have a question for you."

"Ask." Geoffrey's hand slid forward until their fingers were clasped together.

"After this battle, what happens? Is there a future for… this?" He gestured at their hands. 

Geoffrey raised Zevran's hand to his lips, kissing his fingertips. "As long as you want me, I will be here."

"Ah." Geoffrey marveled at the innocent excitement in Zevran's face, the blush that darkened his cheeks, ghosting over the tips of his ears and nose. "Well then." Zevran wasn't often at a loss for words, and there was certainly a thrill in inducing it. "Then I must confess, the earring was not a gift of purely gratitude."

Geoffrey laughed. "I figured as much, Zevran. I'm going to kiss you now, okay?"

With a chuckle, Zevran did it first, tucking himself into Geoffrey's lap, arms resting on his shoulders. "Stole your kiss," he teased, pressing his lips to Geoffrey's jaw. 

Geoffrey's slid his hands down Zevran's back, gripping his ass as Zevran kissed lower, dragging his teeth over his pulse. "Mm, so you did. Guess I'll have to steal something else." 

Zevran pulled back and grinned. "Do your worst, my Warden."

\-- 

Of course Riordan brought portents of doom. What else were Grey Wardens for?

The knowledge that one of the Wardens had to die to destroy the archdemon sat heavy on Geoffrey's stomach. If Riordan fell too soon… 

Alistair left to go drink with the others, but Geoffrey stayed upstairs, lingering by the window. He didn't trust himself to look at his friends without crying yet. Too many people had already had to die. 

"Geoffrey, can I speak to you?"

He turned, looking at Morrigan in surprise. "Of course, what do you need?"

So Morrigan brought him back to her room and explained what she knew, and what she could do.

"This is why your mother sent you with us, isn't it?" Geoffrey asked, suspicion narrowing his eyes.

"Yes, in part." She crossed her legs as she sat, her golden eyes glinting in the firelight. "But think carefully what I am offering you, Geoffrey. No one need be sacrificed."

"All I have to do is have sex with you." He spoke without humor.

"Is the thought truly so revolting?" She raised an eyebrow, gesturing down at her body. "Surely I am not that unappealing?" But she changed tack. "Think of your elf then. If Riordan falls, are you going to let Alistair take that blow?"

Geoffrey clenched his jaw and looked away from her, toward the fire. 

"I thought not." But her tone was not triumphant. "Spare him that heartbreak, Geoffrey."

After a long moment, he stood and faced her. "Very well. You shall have your child, Morrigan. I agree to your terms. Let's make this quick."

\-- 

Geoffrey returned to his quarters. Leaving the lamps unlit, he dropped onto the bed. It had taken more time than he'd anticipated, sleeping with Morrigan. He shuddered at the remembrance. In the end, she had blindfolded him and kept silent to make it easier for him to stay… up to the task.

The tingle of magic on his body still lingered, putting him ill at ease. "Maker, what have I done?" he murmured, and let his face fall into his waiting hands. He didn't think Zevran would begrudge the sex itself, not really, but he should have _asked_. He should have sought Zevran out, gotten his opinion and permission. Instead, he'd gone behind his back, almost immediately after establishing their relationship as one of infinite importance.

With shaking hands, he reached up to his ear and unclasped the earring, Zevran's token. He stared at it in his hand, then closed his fingers around it, waiting for Zevran's return to their room and for the sky to fall.

When finally Zevran appeared, it didn't take him long to discover what Geoffrey had done. Maker, the hurt and disappointment on his lover's face was almost too much for Geoffrey's heart to take. 

He told Zevran everything. Even the things Riordan and Duncan would have preferred remain secret. The sex that followed was more punishment than affection, but it was what Geoffrey needed to be certain he was forgiven. 

Zevran clasped the earring back into place, brushing his fingers over Geoffrey's face. "Next time, ask me first," he said sternly. "Now, did you eat dinner?"

"No," Geoffrey said quietly. Stress had kept him away.

"Then we shall eat before bed. Tomorrow is an important day." Zevran bullied him up and helped him dress, taking them down the kitchens to snack on the leftovers. He hovered like a mother hen, making sure Geoffrey ate his fill. 

They returned to the bedroom. Geoffrey's thoughts were heavy as lead. "What if I die before I even reach the Archdemon?" he asked.

Zevran got him into bed, curling around him. "Don't curse yourself by saying things like that. There is no way I will let that happen." His arms tightened around Geoffrey's middle, his lips pressing into the space behind his ear. 

"But, Zev—" Zevran covered his mouth. 

"No, no more talking. We will sleep, then we will march upon the darkspawn horde, and by the end of tomorrow evening, the Blight will be over." 

Geoffrey rolled over, gathering Zevran into his arms, squeezing tightly. "I love you, Zevran," he said, his heart threatening to burst forth from his chest.

The sheen in Zevran's eyes told him more than his mouth could ever say. He ducked his head to rest against Geoffrey's neck. "Tell me again tomorrow," he said softly. 

"Yes, ser," Geoffrey said and kissed Zevran's temple. 

They held each other the rest of the night.

Morning came all too soon.

\-- 

The city was overrun when they arrived. Riordan led the main charge into the city. "Sten," Geoffrey said, looking up at the giant. "I need you to command the secondary force here at the gates. We cannot let any more into the city. Oghren, Wynne, Leliana, you follow his orders."

For once, there was no argument. Sten nodded. "I will not fail you, Warden."

His friends gathered around him. Oghren thumped him hard on the back, offering him one sharp, burning shot of liquor. "Let's show them our hearts," he said, and then grinned. "And then we'll show them theirs." 

Wynne and Leliana hugged him tightly, despite his heavy armor. "Maker's blessing go with you," Leliana said gently. "We will keep these gates closed." 

Sten held out a hand. As Geoffrey took it, Sten squeezed. "I am told this is a gesture of respect," he said. "It is your leadership that has brought us to this battle. Should you perish, I will mourn the loss."

"Thank you, Sten. Lead them well."

Sten nodded and stepped away so his strike team could approach. Alistair stared at the red sky and the burning city. "In we go, like the Grey Wardens of old," he said, his expression conflicted.

Geoffrey crossed his arms over his chest. "For the honor of the Grey Wardens."

"For the Wardens," Alistair echoed and stepped away to say his goodbyes to the others. 

"I will leave when this battle is done," Morrigan said, coldly at first, but her expression softened. "Before I met you, I knew nothing of friendship. Despite how it ended, I am honored to have once called you such."

Geoffrey put a hand on her shoulder. "You are still my friend, Morrigan. Don't doubt it."

She gave him a sad little smile and moved away, murmuring spells of protection as she approached the gates. 

It felt almost like being given his last rites. Hardwin whined, nudging his hand. Geoffrey knelt and rubbed his ears. "Sorry, boy, but I need you to watch out for the others. Especially Wynne. She's old." 

Hardwin still whined. 

"I can't trust anyone else with this important mission," he said seriously. "Are you up to the task?"

Hardwin barked and licked his face. 

"Good boy. I'll see you when the battle is done. Now, back to Wynne."

Hardwin looked back at him sadly, tail down, but he went.

Zevran was last. "So here we are, marching together into a darkspawn infested city," he said conversationally. "You have such strange taste in romantic endeavors."

Geoffrey chuckled. "I would never deny you the chance to be a hero."

With a snort, Zevran smiled. "The only hero of today will be you, dear Warden." He reached up and held Geoffrey's face in his hands, staring into his eyes, expression becoming serious. "I want you to know that failing to assassinate you was the luckiest thing to ever happen to me."

Geoffrey held his own hands over Zevran's. "It's a good thing you're not a better assassin then." 

Zevran chuckled and leaned in for a soft kiss. "You are a cruel man. I adore you." His eyes twinkled. 

"I love you, Zevran. No matter what happens, know that." 

At that, Zevran's grip on his face tightened, his eyes darkening. "Do not say goodbye. I would walk alone into the Black City before I saw you perish. You will live to see the dawn. I swear it." 

Geoffrey's stomach clenched. "If you die on me, I will never forgive you, Zevran." 

"Then we will both live through this. Together."

They kissed one more time. "Together," Geoffrey repeated. "I'm holding you to that."

"Hold yourself to me later." Zevran smirked. "Don't get eaten."

Geoffrey laughed. "Will do, love. Will do."

\-- 

Maker, even with the gate held fast against the rest of the horde, the darkspawn in the city seemed endless. Morrigan's magic wasn't the healing softness of Wynne's, but rather an anxious itchiness under his skin that kept him going far past his normal limits.

Zevran stuck close by his side, darting away to engage darkspawn trying to flank him or to take down distant emissaries, before returning and casting quick glances over Geoffrey's body to check for injuries. 

In the alienage, the elves had formed a militia with weapons taken from fallen guardsmen. They watched him warily, wondering if he would attempt to take them. "Fight well!" he said, and raised his shield, the Cousland heraldry faded and bloodied, but still there, despite everything. "We will take back Denerim!"

The elves cheered and took up positions to defend what remained of their home. "Go, Warden!" the leader, Shianni, called to him. 

He raised his hand in answer, and marched on, Zevran by his side.

As they approached Fort Drakon, the Archdemon shrieked in the sky, the sound of it making Geoffrey's head ache. On its back, he could just make out a lone figure—Riordan, struggling to keep his grip. 

As they battled the darkspawn on the ground, he prayed fervently under his breath, one eye on the sky as the struggle between Warden and Archdemon went on. As Geoffrey knocked one more genlock to the ground and stomped its skull, he glanced up and felt his heart stutter.

Riordan had fallen, his body struggling uselessly in the air until it vanished behind rooftops. Geoffrey could imagine the sound of impact. "Andraste, guide him to the Maker's side," Geoffrey murmured, meeting Alistair's haunted gaze. The Archdemon, injured, slammed into the top of the fortress. "To Fort Drakon!" he yelled to his companions. 

The darkspawn were retreating toward it as well, probably called by the Archdemon. "The battle is not yet done!" Alistair shouted. "Keep your wits about you!"

"I always do," Zevran said. "Geoffrey, do you need a poultice?"

He shook his head. "No, save them for when we fight the Archdemon. I suspect we'll need them. He blew his horn three times, calling for aid from the Dalish warriors nearby. As they appeared from the nearby alleyways, the leader approached Geoffrey. 

"How can we assist, Warden?" 

Geoffrey pointed at the fort. "Get in there any way you can. Avoid skirmishes wherever possible. We'll take care of the darkspawn. Focus on getting your people to the roof. The Archdemon's wings are pierced. I'd like to keep it grounded."

The elf nodded. "Creators preserve you, Warden." She darted off to spread the word to her warriors. 

Morrigan, as a giant spider, threw the last defending hurlock from the doors and hissed at Geoffrey. He gestured to Alistair and Zevran, and the four entered the prison, doors slamming ominously behind them.

Alistair locked the great mechanism. "It won't keep them out forever, but it may slow them down."

Geoffrey nodded, reaching out with his Warden senses. "There are already plenty inside," he muttered, sensing several clusters above them. "Come on. Let's head up." Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a Dalish warrior outside one of the high windows, ascending the fortress walls. 

He pushed forward, battling through yet more waves of darkspawn, practically functioning on muscle memory alone. Some of the darkspawn had set up ambushes, but between forewarning from Zevran and the Warden sense, they were hardly a threat.

Geoffrey pushed the door to the roof open, the heat of fire searing across his helmeted face. The Archdemon stood before him, its black jaws dripping, wings twitching around the arrows embedded in the webbing. He saw a flash out of the corner of his eye, and another arrow flew to join them. Raging, the Archdemon spewed black fire at the source, but the archer appeared to have moved quickly away. 

Shield up, Geoffrey approached it. "You know what I am," he said, moving slowly. 

The Archdemon shrieked, and somewhere underneath it all was a _hum_ that shook Geoffrey's very bones. A quick glance to Alistair confirmed he'd felt it too. They both raised their shields. 

"Morrigan, weaken it if you can, and if not, hamper its movement," Geoffrey said. "Zevran, go for its hackles. Keep its attention divided."

"And you?" Zevran asked.

Geoffrey looked to Alistair. "We're going for the head." He grinned.

Zevran looked like he wanted to argue, but the Archdemon spewed fire again, this time at Geoffrey. He got his shield up, feeling the metal heat against his gloves. "Go!" Geoffrey yelled, and charged forward, Alistair yelling a battle cry beside him.

As the dragon snapped and roared, Geoffrey caught glimpses of Zevran, teasing its underbelly, attacking the soft side of its hind legs. The Archdemon hopped and jumped, Zevran dodging nimbly out of the way of its massive feet. 

Suddenly, a wash of rejuvenating magic enveloped him, and he turned to see Wynne's apprentice, her robes bloodied, casting on one of the battlements. He also saw darkspawn reinforcements. 

"Alistair!" he called. "Keep it busy! I'll take care of our guests!"

In answer, Alistair slapped the dragon with his shield, drawing its ire. 

They were just hurlocks. Easy. 

Geoffrey jumped into the fray, defending the healer and the scattered Dalish that popped in and out of view to fire. But there were a _lot_ of hurlocks. 

One of them managed to knock the Cousland shield away, sending it skittering across the stones. In that moment of distraction, it backhanded Geoffrey, the strength of it leaving him reeling long enough for it to slice his arm below the protection of his pauldrons. The smaller plates did their job, but Geoffrey could feel the bruise forming. 

A sword appeared through the hurlock's neck, slicing through it as the attacker knocked the corpse to the ground with a heavy shield. Zevran spat at the dead darkspawn. "Are you alright?" he asked Geoffrey. 

Geoffrey smiled. "I'm fine, Zevran." 

Zevran held out the shield, _his_ shield. "Don't drop this, yes?"

"A little help here!!" Alistair cried, grunting as the dragon snapped at him, which he caught with his now very beaten-up and dented shield. 

Another wash of healing magic. Geoffrey gave the young woman a grateful smile before looking to Zevran and nodding back toward the Archdemon. "Let's finish this, love."

"Lead the way, Warden."

Some dwarves and more mages got to the top of the tower, battling the reinforcements while Geoffrey and his companions focused the dragon. It was beginning to strain, its body trembling, black blood no longer dripping but gushing from wounds. 

Geoffrey saw his chance. He pushed his shield into place on his back and leapt up, wrapping his arms around the dragon's jaw, driving his sword in as leverage.

The Archdemon shrieked and shook itself, trying to toss Geoffrey off. He could just make out what sounded like Antivan—and not complementary Antivan—over the sound of the blood pounding in his ears.

He held on, using his sword to help pull him farther up, until he was clinging to the top of the great beast's head. Holding fast with his thighs, he grabbed the sword and plunged it in again and again, aiming as best he could for the creature's brain.

One blow was lucky, and the dragon collapsed beneath him, still breathing, but paralyzed. Leaving the sword in place, Geoffrey climbed down, panting heavily. 

" _Ti sei bevuto il cervello?!_ " Oh, the Antivan was still happening. Zevran grabbed his collar. "I tell you not to get eaten, so you climb atop its mouth?!" 

Morrigan's voice cut into the bickering. "It's not dead yet," she said ominously.

Geoffrey nodded as Zevran peeled his fingers from his shirt. 

"Maybe I should—" Alistair started.

"Don't you dare." Geoffrey cut him off. "You've already accepted the crown, Alistair. I'm not about to let my king risk his neck any farther." He turned to Morrigan. "No offense."

She rolled her eyes. "So little faith in me," she muttered. 

Alistair frowned at her. "Morrigan, what did you d— Hey!" Geoffrey grabbed a greatsword from a dead warrior and began running full speed toward the dragon. He couldn't stop. He couldn't think. It had to be done.

He slid, cutting the Archdemon's throat. And for good measure, he drove the greatsword into its skull, beside his own blade. 

In his blood, he felt its death, the low humming rising to a crescendo, and then abruptly stopping. Bright white light shot forth into the sky. The magic sizzled through Geoffrey's body, his hands stuck fast to the hilt of the blade. But the light shifted, reaching instead for Morrigan, circling her body until it dove inside, causing her briefly to glow. She touched her stomach. 

Before Geoffrey could say anything, the light began to shrink back in on itself, power building. "Watch ou—!" He was cut off by the explosion. 

He was thrown back, armor digging painfully into his shoulders. He gasped at the shock of it. Through the ringing in his ears, he began to hear the joyful cries of the people below. The darkspawn were retreating. He smiled.

Zevran appeared in his vision. "Geoffrey? Are you alright?" he asked, removing his helmet to feel along the back of his head for wounds.

Geoffrey smiled at him, feeling _drunk_ of all things. "We did it," he said dreamily.

He turned toward Morrigan, who only gave him a sad half-smile, before shifting into a raven, and taking to the sky. 

"You're… you're _alive_ ," Alistair breathed, kneeling down beside him. "But how?"

Zevran waved him away. "Questions later," he said imperiously, straddling Geoffrey's waist and smirking. "Now it's time for the hero to get a heroic kiss."

Geoffrey grinned. "Only one?" he asked.

Relief and laughter were such good looks on Zevran's face, Geoffrey decided, smiling at him. Maker, he was so happy they were both alive. "You can have as many as you want," Zevran said. 

They were still kissing when Bann Teagan reached the roof to check the damages. Alistair cleared his throat. "Um. Geoffrey? Zevran? Er, hello?" They ignored him.

Bann Teagan laughed. "Let them be, Your Majesty. Though I imagine they'd like a bath. As far as we can ascertain, the castle was not breached."

At the mention of a bath, Geoffrey paid attention. "A bath," he said wonderingly.

"A bath," Zevran agreed. 

Alistair sighed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "Antivan" is Italian. The literal translation is "Did you drink your brain?" and is courtesy of my Italian D&D compatriot, Lizzie. :D
> 
> If you want an expanded, E-rated version of the makeup sex post-Dark Ritual, check out the next story in this series.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment of peace at last.

The walk back to the castle was marvelous. They were met by the others, all of whom were thrilled to see the Wardens safe and sound—even Sten, the softie. Geoffrey's dog bowled him over in excitement, leaving Geoffrey flat on his back once again. "Good boy!" Geoffrey laughed, hugging the massive hound. "I told you I'd see you after the battle!"

The dog barked, tail wagging furiously, then resuming the exuberant licking of his master's face. 

"He is a fine warrior," Sten said. "He was instrumental in keeping our back line safe." Zevran squinted at him suspiciously, smirking. Sten did not meet his gaze.

"Good boy," Geoffrey cooed again and rubbed the dog's ears. 

"Where is Morrigan?" Leliana asked, horror growing in her face. "Did she…?" 

Geoffrey shook his head. "No, she's alive. But it was time for her to leave. Her choice, not mine."

Wynne helped Geoffrey to his feet. "It is a shame she will not be able to join us in celebrating our victory."

With a nod, Geoffrey patted the dog's head. "It is. But now, Bann Teagan promised a bath, and I will take him up on that." He looked back at the man, who laughed. 

"Then let us go to the castle."

\--

When they got there, the servants were already busily buzzing about, preparing baths and a hero's feast, as well as cleaning up after the blood and mud and taint that dripped from the warriors' boots and armor. 

Zevran and Geoffrey were taken up to what must have been the finest guest suite, with multiple servant chambers and a large sitting room clearly intended for diplomatic meetings. As they entered, a servant had just finished filling the large tub in the attached bathroom. He bowed to them quickly, smiling, and hurried out to give them privacy.

Wasting no more time, Zevran helped Geoffrey out of his armor, piling it beside the doorway to the bathroom. Once he was down to only his clothing, Geoffrey quickly stripped that off on his own, tossing it carelessly aside as he ran to the tub, sinking into the hot water with a groan that was positively lewd.

"I hope I can provoke that reaction one day," Zevran teased as he worked off his own armor and clothing, before joining him in the bath, stepping on either side of Geoffrey's legs and sinking down into his lap. 

Geoffrey hummed happily as he groped for the nearby washing cloth and dunked it in the water, wiping Zevran's chest clean. "Maybe you can. But I'll warn you, once I'm clean and relaxed, my plan is to sleep for the next three days at least."

Zevran took the cloth and rubbed it against Geoffrey's face, checking the small cuts and bruises made visible from beneath the dirt and blood. His white chest was marred with darkening bruises, but no bloody cuts that Zevran could see. He kissed Geoffrey's neck as he ran the cloth over it. 

"Mmm…" Geoffrey leaned into his touch, then took the cloth back. "You first, then you can do me."

"Is that a promise?" Zevran purred against his ear.

He giggled, still a bit battle drunk. "If you want it to be, love." He washed Zevran with care and attention, sneaking little kisses here and there, before handing the cloth back to him.

Zevran took his time scrubbing Geoffrey from top to bottom, adjusting his position to wash his legs and feet. Oh those poor feet, blistered and bruised. He kissed the top of each one as they were made clean, massaging them gently. That got the contented groan again as Geoffrey's head lolled back, his chest rising and falling with deep, comfortable breaths. "Turn to me, mi amor. Let's get your back."

Geoffrey turned and Zevran bit his lip at the large bruise growing across his shoulders, probably from the explosion. He pressed the cloth only lightly against it, working quickly, conscious of the stiffening in Geoffrey's shoulders as he did.

"Now, your ass," Zevran said, letting the smirk reach his voice.

The look he got over Geoffrey's shoulder made him lick his lips. "Come on now. We both know such places get terribly sweaty in the heat of battle."

So Geoffrey got himself onto his knees, raising his ass out of the water for Zevran to wash. And wash he did. If Geoffrey found his cock becoming half-risen by the activity, well, that was just his own perversion, was it not? He placed a kiss on the Warden's hip before pushing him back into the water and returning to their first position, Zevran straddling his lap.

He hung the washing cloth over the side of the tub, and rubbed soap into his hands, reaching up to scrub at Geoffrey's scalp. "That feels amazing, Zev," he murmured against his collarbone. Zevran smiled in answer, pressing his lips to Geoffrey's forehead.

When he finished, he stood up so Geoffrey could duck forward and wash out the soap, water coursing down his face in rivulets. "I can't remember the last time I was this clean," he said, hugging Zevran as he sat back down. "Thank you, love."

"Anytime." Zevran rested against his broad chest, half falling asleep himself. He yawned. 

The chest beneath him rumbled in laughter. "Didn't you want to do me?" he asked softly, sleep heavy in his voice.

"Mm, you'll still be here in the morning." 

"In that case, let's move to the bed, unless you wish to wake up a prune."

With a grunt of assent, Zevran got up and grabbed two towels, handing one to Geoffrey. They toweled off quickly, then walked naked back to the bedroom. After a jaw-popping yawn, Geoffrey pulled on an extra pair of pants to sleep in, Zevran raising an amused eyebrow. 

"So eager to preserve your modesty, mi amor."

Geoffrey smiled. "No, my balls get cold."

Zevran laughed and pushed him into the bed, kissing him again. "You need to sleep, my Warden."

Warm hands cupped his face. "You too, my assassin. Sleep well."

Zevran rolled onto his side, smiling as Geoffrey's hands encircled his waist, and soft kisses tickled his neck. "Sleep, Geoffrey. I will be here when you awaken."

Geoffrey murmured something that sounded like "I love you". 

With that soft tenderness in his heart, Zevran lifted one of those hands to his mouth and kissed its palm. "I love you too, Geoffrey."

The embrace tightened, and warm tears now dripped against his neck. "That's the first time you said it," Geoffrey said. 

"I love you," he repeated, rolling over to wipe the tears away. "I love you." He kissed those bright eyes, uncaring of the saltiness on his tongue. "I love you." Such little words. How easily they were said when true. He brought their lips together one more time. "I love you, Geoffrey. Now sleep, knowing that."

Geoffrey's eyes fell closed, a smile on his face. "As you wish, love. I'll see you in the morning."

He fell asleep quickly, his grip slackening around Zevran's waist. For a little while, Zevran merely watched him, marveling at how warm and safe he felt in those arms. But soon he too was called by the blissful sleep of the exhausted, and didn't wake until well into the next day, to the sounds of the servants quietly emptying the tub and cleaning it. 

He stayed in bed, eyes closed. Geoffrey didn't stir one bit, still heavy and warm around him. He quickly fell asleep again. When he woke for the second time, it was to Geoffrey moving, grumblingly and achingly as he crawled out of bed to use the chamberpot. When he finished, he snuggled around Zevran, sighing contentedly against his head. "Are you awake?" he murmured.

Zevran hummed an answer.

"Want to do me now?" The question was sleepy, half-serious, but Zevran opened his eyes slowly. 

"Always, mi amor." 

They didn't do anything strenuous, little more than kissing and rutting against each other until they were finished. Zevran wiped them clean with the blanket. "We'll need to eat eventually," he mumbled with a yawn.

"I'm not hungry…" And soon, Geoffrey was fast asleep once again, this time on his back, snoring slightly. 

Zevran smiled and kissed his nose, before resting his head on the Warden's chest. He knew that life would soon call upon them to do more things, particularly his Geoffrey—heroes did not get to escape the spotlight so easily—but for now, they were safe and comfortable and in love. And that was enough to lull him once more into peaceful slumber. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! It was two years of work (not that it really shows, haha)


End file.
